


Star Wars One-shots

by KA513



Category: Star Wars Legends - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, One Shot Collection, Pretty much nothing but OCs, See each work for tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2018-11-14 06:37:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11202492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KA513/pseuds/KA513
Summary: This is pretty much going to be my dumping ground of my one-shots that I've been writing over the years. Each one-shot will be posted as a new chapter. Please see each chapter for the proper tags. As most of these are prompted one-shots, I will also be adding the original prompt at the beginning of each story.The works within were originally published on the Rogue Squadron RPG message boards(www.rogue-net.co.uk).  All characters are the intellectual property of the author unless otherwise noted.This story, and the characters within, may not be copied, duplicated, or used in any way without prior written permission.





	1. Flash Fic Challenge - Trauma

**Author's Note:**

> This particular one-shot was written as part of a fanfic challenge based around the idea of trauma. The original prompt is as follows:
> 
> Your subject will be the moments after some type of trauma that the character experiences.  
> The character can be your own or another player's (with their permission). You may not use an NPC for your main character. If you have more than character in the story try to make them all players and limit the use of NPCs.  
> You may use first person or third person in the narrative.  
> Stories must be under 900 words in length.

It's all a bit of a blur, really. All I can remember is flashing lights painting dark corridors with bright red colours, something breaking glass, hooting alarms, and a computerized voice counting down. Something about Project Legion and evacuation protocols. There was something else. Fear. Pain. The station reeked of it. I remember dark shadowy things moving, and running. There was a lot of running. Then, waking up in Hunter's medbay, tubes running into both arms. Doctor Talgen says I should be fine in a few days, but that I lost a lot of blood. That once I'm better, she'll fit me for a new leg. Something chewed it off on the station. I'm not sure, but I think I'm the only one who made it off. Made it off alive, that is.

Let me backtrack a bit. According to official records, Hunter intercepted an emergency broadcast from an Imperial research station requesting immediate evacuation. By the time we got on station, no one was responding to hails, so a boarding party was sent across, consisting of myself, five other engineers, and two squads of marines. The station itself was deserted, with no trace of anyone ever being there. Comm logs indicate that we split up into two teams, one heading down to the engineering decks and the other to the command deck. I was on the team heading to the command deck. We lost contact with team two shortly thereafter. The station logs indicated that the researchers were developing some sort of immortality serum. Aqua Vida,they called it. The last entry shows that they injected a few corpses they found in a derelict vessel with the serum. From what was left of the imagery, the corpses look like Duk'hang. Wonderful. There are no further log entries. After reading that, I recommended we evac our people off the station under full quarantine procedures and blast it into rubble. Comm contact fizzles out at that point. We start easing our way back through the station to our shuttle. The quickest way is through the science section. While cutting through, we glimpse something that looks like Duk'hang, and we hightail it. That's when I hear something break, and that damn computer voice comes on. “Contamination Breach in Sector Seven-G.” It says. “Evacuation protocols for Project Legion in effect.” That'd be great, if we knew what Project Legion was. Fifteen seconds until emergency shutdown. We start running. I can see the shuttle bay in front of us. We're almost to the door. It slams down. So close, yet so far. Something's chasing us, so we keep running. We have got to find a way off, and we have to find it now. This...this thing chasing us, it's herding us. Trying to drive us to somewhere specific. A sudden thought pops into my head; something Corry told be about Earth. Hounds to the hunters. That thing behind us is the hound. Wherever it wants us to go, that's where the hunters have to be. I've never noticed how much this station resembles a maze until now. Some of the men start to panic. I'm the only officer in the group, so I can't lose my head. The more we run, the more we hear strange sounds. There's more of the creatures than we thought. We round a corner and run into the crew of the station. Something's wrong, though. They're moving, but they act like they've been binge drinking. Oh no. I suddenly realize what's wrong. The crew, they're all dead. I scream for the team to run, but it's too late. The zombies lunge, and all I see is torn and rotting flesh. All I hear is screaming. All I smell is death. I feel something grab my leg and a sudden sharp pain. A quick glance confirms my fears. Whatever it is has bitten me. I kick at it, trying to kill it, but all it does is bite down even harder. Something strikes my head, and I start to pass out. The last thing I see is a zombie towering over me. It looks like Blaine. Figment? Or reality? I'm not certain. It lunges, fangs dripping bright blood. I scream.

A nurse shakes me awake. I've had a nightmare, she says, before asking if I want something to help me sleep. Sleep. Perchance to dream. I shake my head. Nothing can help me sleep now. I can feel it inside me. The craving. It's slowly driving me mad. If only there was a way to stop it......


	2. Flash Fic Challenge #2: Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is from another flash fic challenge I participated it. The concept behind this one is as follows:  
> After a protracted and exhausting battle with significant casualties, all surviving members of a military task force have been quarantined and are being required to complete a mental fit for duty check.
> 
> As one of the survivors, your doctors have asked you to take on an art project. It could be sculpture, painting, metals work, holographic work - any visual medium. The project is to represent a personal experience in your life.
> 
> As we know, this will likely backfire in the shrink's faces. They may get something completely humorous or gut wrenchingly sad or truly terrifying. That's that problem.  
> Your job is to write one post where your character is creating or presenting your project.  
> In doing so we hope to learn more about each of you.
> 
> I have done some slight editing from the original, mostly swapping character names around for ones that I felt worked better.

Medical Bay, Cape Hope Orbital Station 

If she was being honest with herself, the problem wasn't that she didn't remember how she ended up in the medbay. The truth was, she didn't want to remember. She should have gone down with the ship. It would have been so much easier if she had. Then, she wouldn't have to deal with the vacant corridors that should have been bustling, the empty chairs at empty tables in empty mess halls that should have rung with laughter. The guilt of knowing that this, all of this - the pain, the anguish, the death and destruction - was her fault. She'd failed them all. She should have hit the ejection switch instead of gambling that she could stop a runaway reactor in time. She hadn't. Tahidra had tried to eject the reactor, but even she'd been too slow. The upper part of the core had just barely cleared the hull when the entire thing had detonated with all the fury of a dying star, and Casie had watched as her friend was vaporized, along with almost all of the engineering crew of the heavy cruiser _Intrepid_. She'd almost made it out of the ruined main engineering bay when the forcefields holding in the atmosphere failed, depressurizing the whole area. She'd barely made it under the isolation bulkhead in time. In retrospect, she wished she hadn't. Being sucked into the cold void of space was preferable to this. Instead, she'd somehow survived, pulled out of the ruined hulk of what had once been a mighty warship, and brought back to Cape Hope. Only for her to lay here and glare evil thoughts at the ceiling.

"How are you doing, Lieutenant?" A voice interrupted her thoughts. On balance, Casie wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not, and so she turned her glare on its owner.

"You're the doctor, you tell me." The Squib snapped.The Doctor, a male Umbaran by the name of Montoya, winced at her reaction.

"Physically, you seem to be healing. But that's not what I meant. How are you holding up emotionally?"

"Ah. So glad you clarified." Sarcasm was one of Casie's well-honed defense mechanisms. With a gesture, she indicated herself. "I'm totally normal, especially for someone who doesn't have any kriffing legs! Not to mention the massive dose of radiation poisoning. How the kark do you think I feel?" Angrily, she ripped back the covers of her bed. Where her legs should have been, there were only stumps wrapped in white bandages. Elsewhere, patches of fur were already starting to fall out.

"That's what I'm concerned about, Lieutenant. This guilt, you need to let it go."

"If you're about to tell me that what happened isn't my fault, so help me, I'm going to take this bed and shove it down your throat."

"I'm not going to give you any useless platitudes. I am, however, prescribing a new method of treatment." Montoya thrust a pad of flimsi and a package of pencils towards Casie. When she didn't take them, he dropped them on her bed.

"What the stang is this?"

"This is something that the other doctors and I feel will help you and the other patients. Rather than doing the usual talking out of feelings, we want you to express them visually. In this case, by drawing them. Your file says you're rather top notch at sketching, so I thought it'd help."

"Just leave me alone." Dejectedly, the Squib pulled the covers back over herself, and turned her head to face the opposite bulkhead. "Didn't you hear me? I said get out."

"You know, Lieutenant, there's something you need to consider: while you might feel like a Kath hound's chew toy, at least you can feel. There are others who aren't so lucky."

Angrily, Casie snatched the tray sitting on her bedside table, the one that contained her as-of-yet-uneaten meal, and flung it at Doctor Montoya. "OUT!" She practically shrieked.

Dodging the tray with almost practiced ease, Montoya pointed at the flimsi pad. "Sketch your feelings out, Lieutenant. And that's an order." Turning, he left the room.

Wearily, Casie slumped back against her pillows. On the one hand, she didn't want to feel better; didn't deserve to either. On the other hand, sketching out her feelings would get the kriffing doctor off her back. At least for the time being. Letting out a resigned sigh, the engineer picked up the pad, and began to sketch.

It wasn't until some time later that Casie became aware of another presence in the room. Well, a living presence. The ghost in the corner had been there for quite some time. Thankfully, the specter had stayed silent. "Yes?" She grunted, not taking her eyes off her work.

"Doc Monty thought you could use a friendly face." Ensign Adel replied, schooling her features to stay in what she thought of as her 'friendly professional sabbac face'. "What are you working on?" She added, motioning to the flimsi pad. On it, in stark black and white, was an image that definitely came straight from a nightmare. The crisp lines of a warship, massive holes torn in her hull. The shattered hammerhead of a Corellian corvette. Jagged chunks of debris floating in between. If she looked close enough- and she wasn't sure he wanted to - she could make out bodies floating amongst the wreckage.

"Dunnu. You're the medico, you tell me." Casie muttered sullenly. She handed her a sheaf of other flimsi. "While you're at it, you might as well tell me what these are supposed to mean as well."

Glancing through them, Coco saw a common theme. One was of a small figure surrounded by shadowy figures. Another showed a starship of indeterminate make in the midst of exploding, as if shattered by an invisible grip. Yet another depicted a small child hiding in a suit of armour, surrounded by grasping tendrils of mist and shadow. There were others that she didn't want to examine too closely, although he knew he would eventually have to. Yet always in the background was the same figure. A ghostly figure of unknown species and gender astride a pale quadruped. At least, he thought that's what it was. The figure appeared to be merged with the animal in such a way that it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.

"Casie, " The medic began, dropping the formalities of rank. "This isn't meant to be some Rorschach test. It's an exercise in healing. We're trying to put everyone back together, body and mind. Studies have shown this kind of exercise helps, so we decided to try it."

"But what happens if I'm too broken to be put back together?" The Squib asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"I don't believe anyone is ever too broken to be healed, Cas."

"I am."

Repressing a sigh and setting aside the drawings, the Ensign took the Squib's hand in both her own. She could feel the calluses on her fingers and palms, and the scarring on her wrist. "Look at me." She ordered. When the Squib turned her baleful stare on her, she continued. "I'll make you a promise, Casie. Doc Haywood and I, we're not going to give up on you. Neither'll Doc Monty. But I want you to promise me something in return. I want you to promise me that you won't give up on yourself."

"I'll try."

"Get some rest. You've been awake for the last six days straight. I'm kind of surprised you're not hallucinating already. Humans can't go more than five without rest."

"Practice." Casie replied, a ghost of a smile touching her lips. "Plenty of time to sleep when I'm dead. Isn't that right, Tahidra?"

"Okay, I'm just gonna give you a sedative now." Quickly, Adel pulled out a loaded hypo from one cavernous pocket of her lab coat and pressed it into the crook of the Squib's arm. "I promise you won't dream."

As the sedative took effect, Casie was dimly aware of the medic leaving the room, and a soft voice whispering in her ear. "Let go of the Dead, Casie. Life is for the living, so live it. Really live it." It almost sounded like Tahidra.


End file.
